THE GREAT PHYSICIAN. DIET. In all the works of ALMIGHTY GOD a faithful observer cannot fail to notice the mutual dependence of one member of creation upon another; each occupying its particular sphere; each fulfilling the appointed law of its being. Reflect for a moment how impossible it would be for the functions of our body to be properly carried on if any one of our organs were diseased, or if either of our limbs were deficient or injured by accident, or, as we should say, not in proper working order. As it is in the spiritual body, the Church, so it is in the natural body; "if one member suffer all the members suffer with it." To carry the analogy further, we have only to compare the animal with the vegetable world which is around us. Neither could continue if the other ceased to exist. Both are characterized by certain functions common to each, such as respiration and nutrition. Both obey natural laws, and are naturally dependant upon each for existence, and every function bears upon its face, in its perfect harmony with the other laws of life, the impress of design. Let us illustrate the principle of which we are speaking by the following example. It is very well known that when a number of persons are collected together in an insufficiently ventilated room, provided with no proper outlet for the escape of the foul air, the place becomes unbearable. Now why is this? Principally because every time each individual person breathes, so much poisonous gas, called carbonic acid, escapes into the atmosphere. "What!" we fancy we can hear some body exclaiming, "is it meant that our breath is nothing more nor less than poison?" Most assuredly such is the case. Now consider; what becomes of the breath of the population of the whole world? Is it suffered to accumulate in the air as so much poison? Such cannot be the case. The vegetable world, which requires nutriment as well as we do, decomposes our breath, appropriates the carbon or charcoal, (of this we spoke in the last paper) and in return exhales a gas called oxygen, and this oxygen is the sustaining principle of life to man. Were it not for this merciful arrangement of Divine providence mankind would perish. Vegetables thus become a reservoir of life in which the deleterious principles of the air are absorbed; in other words, vegetables are a purifier of the air for animals. It is somewhat interesting to observe the contrast between animals and vegetables in the following particular. Animals are constantly parting with their carbonic acid during the course of the twentyfour hours, whilst vegetables appropriate the same. Vegetables, including flowers and the like, exhale oxygen in the day timeand carbonic acid at night. Now remember, this is no mere theory, but a point of practical importance. Do not then keep flowers in a bedroom at night, if you wish not to run the risk of being poisoned. It appears no doubt strange when we think of these matters for the first time, that the very elements which, if retained in our system, would soon bring our lives to a close, yet in vegetables become their food. Perhaps it may be said, what! do vegetables require anything for their food? Are they provided with mouths and stomachs such as animals have? Not quite in detail it is true, but in principle it is the same. Vegetables, though they have no stomachs and mouths such as amimals possess, yet are provided with the substitutes of these organs. Their leaves correspond to the mouths of animals, for by them they separate and drink in that portion of the atmosphere which is required for their sustenance; while again their spongoles, or roots, draw in their nutriment from the soil, which rises into sap, and so feeds them. With these observations, let us now pass on from the food of vegetables to that of man. We have already endeavoured to explain the manner in which food is disposed of in our system; let us now consider the matter employed for this purpose, making, as we proceed, such practical observations as may tend to the right use of God's gifts. The question of the digestibillty of the various kinds of food, does not depend upon speculation only, but has been decided by the observation of facts. A young Canadian, Alexis S. Martin received a wound from a musket ball in the stomach; curiously enough in a surgical point of view the wound never closed. whose capabilities of being digested were very low, as for instance the swine. The analogy however does not hold good in every thing, as for example the hare, forbidden for the use of the Jews, is quite wholesome when properly cooked. But now to come to a practical point. Let us imagine that we have risen from our beds with our bodies refreshed, our minds invigorated, our stomachs healthywhat do we observe on our breakfast table? Bread, butter, milk, eggs, tea, coffee, meat, and the like. Now much is to be learnt about each of these things. Many people will make such a remark as this: "What nonsense!" What is the use of telling us about such common every day matters as bread and butter; such things every body knows. Truth indeed is much stranger than fiction. "If in this case it were folly to be wise, when 'tis ignorance to be bliss," then of course we should have ¦ different nothing to say, but it is a question, if we wish to preserve" a sound mind in a sound body." As the mind acts upon the body so does our diet influence our mind. If our food is not properly digested, we are incapable of using our mental faculties clearly. Milk, to begin with, is the type of all food, and is the only one upon which we could exist solely, as it possesses all the materials required for our nutrition, as well as what is necessary to be burnt, i.e., consumed, in our lungs every time we breathe. It is also the food of infants, nature herself thus appearing to indicate that it is the proper sustenance of life. Bread, rightly called the staff of life, possesses a peculiar principle upon which its powers of nutrition mainly depend, viz., Gluten. But be careful to select bread which has been properly fermented. It leaven has been used in fermentation, or this process has been carried on too long, vinegar will be generated, and the bread will taste, and be unfit for digestion. Again, new bread, or bread insuflicient y baked, is liable to the same objection. These defects however may be remedied by toasting the bread in thin slices; by this means, much of the acid may be removed from sour bread. Many persons prefer brown bread, this variety is more nutritious than very white bread and possesses this advantage that it is less likely to constipate the bowels. A very commen mistake prevails amongst ignorant people that white bread is more nutritious than brown bread. Such is not the case, for in rejecting the bran a large quantity of nutriment is lost amounting to from three or four to twenty per cent. But the common brown bread of the shops is often made of such very coarse materials as to be irritating to many weak stomachs. Good country bread, fermented with yeast, possesses the happy medium, and is most wholesome. Tea and Coffee most people like, the former however, though quite a luxury with many, should not be too freely indulged in. The strong green variety, especially should be avoided by those of a nervous temperament and by those who have any tendency to disease of the heart. "Besides being useful as a diluent, tea is an agreeable and refreshing beverage; and in some cases, especially when made strong, acts as an excitant, and at other times produces sedative and calming effects." It is not well to drink either tea or coffee immediately before we go to bed, as in many constitutions, they are likely to cause wakefulness. All these qualities depend chiefly upon the presence in the leaves of an active principle called Theine. It may not be out of place to mention that good tea cannot so well be made in a teapot very much chased or embossed, because the metal so ornamented becomes a good conductor of heat the consequence of which is that the liquid more readily cools. This is a fact worth remembering. Some people maintain that tea is better prepared by grinding the leaves of the plant, before infusion, in the same manner as coffee berries; this, however, is only a matter of opinion. It may be tried as an experiment by any one interested in the subject. ; Of the other matters of diet we must speak another time. [TO BE CONTINUED.] DYING FLOWERS. IN the woodlands they are lying, To their velvet leaves no longer 46 A dark shadow gathers stronger On their rosy glow: They are dying! Never more sweet birds will render Or in music low and tender, Never more shall village maiden Did not all things living love them, And the holy stars above them Wherefore die they? Earth cannot retain her treasures; Flowers and fruit must fall; Mortal! know in midst of pleasures, Death is waiting all, Therefore die they! FRATREM ODISTI, ET NESCIS." S. Augustine. Very often, when you seem to yourself to be hating an enemy, you are hating a brother, and know it not. (Continued from page 144.) MR. NORTHCOTE did not argue with Mrs. Hume on the momentous subject at present, he knew it would be futile, and he "bided his time." She had left his communion, and placed herself under strange teachers, but in the spirit of true Christian meekness and love he prayed GOD to shed His light on her, as on all other erring human beings. But when it became known, for such rumours soon spread, that Mrs. Northcote's sister frequently went to the town of R-., six miles off, for the sole purpose of attending mass, uncharitable indeed were the remarks current in all societies; and many were those who attended Irwin Church, as if merely waiting to catch the words which fell from Mr. Northcote's lips, in order to convict him of undue leaning towards the scarlet lady. Thinking nothing of the mischief she was doing, Mrs. Hume recovered health and spirits wonderfully, and threw herself, as it were, into the enjoyments of the quiet and pastoral country, rambling in the woods with Mark Dormer and Bridget Irwin, and sometimes joined by Mr. Irwin himself, whose lazy habits seemed to give way beneath the cheering influence of wholesome recreation. It was a remarkable feature in this drama of real life, to observe the antagonism, or even to use a stronger term, the antipathy with which Sarah regarded Mrs. Hume from the first moment they came in contact. The childish look of scorn and dislike was returned with placid hauteur by one so usually tender towards children, as Mrs. Hume. Was it a mysterious foreboding of the future, a terrible presentiment of impending calamity? Sarah pleaded so vehemently not to be of the parties formed for woodland explorations, either riding or walking, that Mr. Irwin carelessly observed, his eldest little. girl was never happy away from the Glen and Miss Tamasina; and to the Glen and Miss Tamasina, Sarah accordingly flew for instruction and solace. There she learnt to hate Mrs. Hume as a wicked papist; and dire was the wrath of Miss Tammy when Miss Rosalia ventured to quote the words of S. Augustine;" OFTEN, WHEN YOU THINK YOU ARE HATING AN ENEMY, YOU ARE HATING A (FUTURE) BROTHER, AND KNOW IT NOT." "Therefore my dear little Miss Irwin, you should never allow yourself to hate any one." 'Pray do not talk such trash to my pupil, Rosalia," angrily interrupted Miss Tammy; "we don't know anything, and don't want to know anything about Saint this or Saint that, or Pope's, or images. You learnt too much, Rosalia, of such matters, worse for you." Rosalia trembled, and turned a look of such mute anguish on her sister as she tottered out of the room, that the mother was roused in Mrs. Latymer, who authoritatively bade Tamasina remember that poor Rosalia was an afflicted babe," and not always answerable for her words. This ancient woman, so far past the age of mortal, the three-score and ten, had often spoken thus of late; she had shown more forbearance and pity towards her youngest daughter than seemed compatible with so hard a nature as hers. When the angel of death approaches man, the shadow of those terrible dark wings fall upon him from a distance; but Mrs. Latymer would not see the shadow; she liked to quote the sayings and doings of a certain ancestor, who had lived to the wonderful age of one-hundred and fifteen years. Why should not she? As Sarah Irwin learnt to hate Mrs. Hume, so did Bridget learn to love her; she was to Bridget an embodiment of beautiful dreams, or of old Bestie's nursery traditions; and besides, the dear Northcotes loved Mrs. Hume, and patient Jamie loved her, and even the fastidious Mark Dormer waited on her steps with boyish gallantry. With all her faults, and they were not a few, Marguerite was a loveable creature; such bright gleams of sunshine burst forth now and then, succeeded indeed by deeper depression, as if despairing remembrances pressed too heavily to be shaken off. Dear excellent Mrs. Northcote had so equable a temper, and was so blest in her lot, that she could not always comprehend the caprices of "the Pearl;" but Mr. Northcote, who read the page of human nature more artistically, saw, with commiseration, how cruel had been the working of the system pursued, to effect so: melancholy a change in one, once so sweet, so happy. When Marguerite's holiday was over, and the time came for leaving Irwin, there was not one left behind that did not miss her; she tore herself away from the shelter of that kindly roof, out into the cruel world again, where those friends could not follow her, to protect or alleviate. Pale and silent she departed, with a promise to return "when she could." With a strong effort Marguerite appeared calm, and yet dared not trust her voice; she had learnt the bitter lesson of suppressing all outward trace of emotion, when the heart is even full to bursting. Mark Dormer began to love little Bridget from the day when he kissed away the tears she shed on saying goodbye to Mrs. Hume; he began to think her eyes so beautiful, that it was a pity to spoil them with weeping; and from henceforth the two were great allies, Bridget confiding many of her troubles and perplexities to Mark, and Mark, on his part, counselling and comforting her on all occasions. Sarah beheld this intimacy with scorn and aversion; not that she disliked Mark, quite the contrary, but she was jealous and angry that so handsome and gallant a fellow as Mark Dormer should notice any one when she was near, and that one, her plain, stupid sister Bridget. Evil was at work in that young nature. Woe to those who foster such feelings, with false terms glossing over the sins and faults yet in the bud, but by degrees to expand and ripen. CHAPTER V. JAMES NORTHCOTE was much confined to the sofa, obliged to recline, poor fellow, from the circumstance of his physical affliction, and some days unable to study or even to speak much, that it became quite a touching sight to see Mark Dormer, high in health, energies, and worldly advantages, devote himself affectionately to soothe and assist the invalid; whose patient and angelic resignation, endeared him to all hearts. Brid get brought him flowers from the old Hall gardens, the earliest violets and the latest roses were all for Jamie; and it was her dearest privilege to sit beside him, and read, and tell him pleasant sayings of dear Miss Rosalia's, or sing to Jamie, for Bridget had a dulcet voice, soft and thrilling, and Jamie loved the beautiful hymn, "Who are these, like stars appearing, These before God's Throne who stand." "And do you know dear Jamie, that Miss Rosalia sings that sweet hymn far better than I do, "said Bridget, one evening, as she ceased," and she loves it as much as you do, Jamie, and in the twilight too. I want to tell you something that seems to me so strange about old Mrs. Latymer Colville; it is her great care and anxiety about all her goods and chattels, Jamie; she is quite angry and miserable if the tables are spotted, or the carpets faded, or the furniture gets a knock, or the table cloths are not bleached snowy white. Just as if she was a young woman beginning the world, instead of trembling every moment on the verge of another. I really do believe, Jamie, it would make her unhappy if her coffin had a flaw in it, if she could see it before she dies; and then another thing is, her terror lest they should bury her too soon, and so bury her alive: she often talks of this to Miss Tammy, and Miss Tammy assures her mother there are infallible signs by which it is ascertained when life is extinct; and this pacifies the yellow old lady, for she is so shrivelled, like a mummy, Jamie, and yet so careful of her old body—and she so soon to go! I know we are all uncertain of life from day to day, or hour to hour, Jamie, but she must soon go; and think of her bothering herself about such trifles, isn't it sad; isn't it terrible?" "And what does Miss Rosalia say to all this ?" enquired Jamie, looking earnestly on Bridget with his grave eyes; "has she no voice in these things, as well as Miss Tamasina; sometimes the reputed silly ones of this world, have more true wisdom than the reputed clever ones." "I am but an ignorant child, as you know, Jamie dear, and as Miss Tammy often tells me, so far behind Sarah in quickness of apprehension, and I am afraid to judge others, though I am very, very sorry indeed to see such an old lady as Mrs Latymer Colville taken up with trifles, yet I don't like to judge her; and Miss Rosalia never speaks of her mother's failings, nor of her sister's, never scems to see them, and I ought to learn from her, Jamie, I am sure, to think of my own, first. But I told you about Mrs. Latymer, because I like to tell you what is uppermost in my mind, and you are so wise and good, Jamie, that I knew it could not be wrong to tell you. Only think of this. Mrs. Latymer and Miss Tammy and Miss Rosalia, are actually coming over to Irwin to dine with papa on Sarah's birthday; it is the first dinner party that papa has had for years, for of course since poor mama's death he has not even But many thought of such matters. cousins and relations are coming to celebrate the day, and Mrs. Latymer says she is determined to walk down the grand staircase once more. And now let me whisper something in your ear, Jamie;Bestie says, that Mrs. Latymer Colville never passes down our staircase at Irwin, without as it were, spurning at it with her foot, and taunting at it with her tongue, because she does so hate all legends, or relics of the holy men who once inhabited the monastery on the site of our ruins, and she does not believe that the staircase ought not to be there. And so on Sarah's birthday she intends to come down the broad flight in all her grandeur, in brocade and |